Forgive Us Our Trespasses
by GreenWood Elf
Summary: A long lost love attends King Baldwin's bedside for the last time.


**Author's Note: **Welcome to my first Kingdom of Heaven fic "Forgive Us Our Trespasses." I did not particularly enjoy the movie but I was captivated by the poor King Baldwin and I simply could not resist writing a one-shot involving him. I am, however, still learning about the crusades and Medieval times so if I have made a historical error please let me know and I will correct it, besides helping me to learn more. Feedback is highly appreciated. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the character or plotline of Kingdom of Heaven. Isabelle alone is mine.

**Forgive Us Our Trespasses**

Her feet pattered across the cool stone floor. She looked like a dark thunder cloud, rolling gracefully through a night sky, the flickering candles mimicking the happy stars. But those eyes, oh those horrid eyes. They bespoke suffering, pain and yes terrible loss. Not many remembered this unfortunate lady. The servants ducked and weaved in her presence, suspicious of her queer appearance, robed entirely in black, the two dim eyes gazing forth, nothing more.

She must have been a person of some importance, arriving with a great caravan, her handmaids perched like ominous doves in the courtyard, where the scent of jasmine spilled out into the night, entwining with the ebony sky. The curious damsel was admitted nevertheless and guided to the King's private chambers, a strange occurrence, especially with his great illness. The woman knew her way, she had tread those solemn paths before, keeping her bearing erect, that of a noble lady, only pausing to stifle a cry. But she gathered herself with much dignity and continued on.

The palace was silent, the chanting of monks in the distance adding to the somber

atmosphere. The royal bedchamber was reached at last. The lady signaled she wished to be alone.

"My ladyship," the servant spoke softly and with the deepest humility. "You must understand, the King is not well. Someone must be in attendance at all times."

"I have known illness," she replied with a sort of sardonic laugh not at all befitting of her station. "Let me enter, I trust I shall not be long."

"As you wish," the man looked unsure, glancing over his shoulder one last time as he scurried back down the corridor.

It had been so long, she reminded herself. I wonder if he even remembers… But she had traveled far, the journey had been difficult, especially at these times. He would have to remember, she would make him.

With that last thought, the gentle woman sallied forth, slipping inside the darkened chambers. Gazing past the gossamer curtains, which stirred so faintly in the eastern breeze, she stopped.

He was there, bandaged and masked, just as the rumors had proclaimed. She had expected this of course, tried to prepare herself for the shock. It was impossible, impossible for anyone to look on the suffering King and not recall his glorious days, his triumphs. So young, so kind, she blinked away the tears.

Perhaps he was sleeping, she felt her heart sink. But then he stirred, as much as his wrappings would permit.

"Who's there?" his voice, at one time so gentle, whispering in her ear, was now a rasping, breathy tone. He could not see, she stepped closer, her skirts brushing over the ground.

"My lord," she struggled to master her words, something that had never been difficult for her. Behind that silver mask, that lifeless piece of mummery she saw his eyes widen. He shifted once more, his movements agitated now.

"Dear God," he wheezed. "I scarce name the voice, lest the angel should take wing once more. Yet perhaps Heaven has come, I darken its doorways."

"Heaven must wait," she replied drawing closer. "Your time has not yet come."

"It could be the vile trickery of delirium," Baldwin mumbled.

"No," the lady slowly lowered herself by his bedside. "Delirium has never been so sweet."

"Oh great Virgin!" his red rimmed eyes glowed with fever, or perhaps tears. "She has returned. The Lord has hastened my Heavenly reward."

"You remember me then," she could not withhold the tears. "My lord, oh my lord."

"She weeps," he said sadly. "My appearance disgusts her."

"It never did and never will," the damsel whispered.

"Draw closer then, dear Isabelle, lest you vanish as a mirage." She obeyed, knowing he would barely be able to make out her form. "You are real?" he questioned in wonderment.

"Yes my lord," she rested her hand against his arm, knowing he couldn't feel.

"I remember," his voice was wistful now. "Those ebony curls, that fair face. We danced under the moonlight, the priest thought us heathens."

"Maybe we were," Isabelle sighed.

"No more than they," Baldwin answered. "You have returned, after all these years. Why, lovely child, to see a sickly man die?"

"To see a sickly man live," she corrected him quickly. "It might be the last time, before…" She trailed off, she could not tell him, not now.

"You left," he said flatly. "Where have you been?"

"I have wandered my lord," she responded sadly. "And now I live in a little manor house, close to the oasis."

"Happily I suppose, with a fine husband and many children?" there was a tinge of defeat in his voice.

"No, I dwell alone. It is not a cheerful place as you would think. I pace the halls at night and cry, oh I have cried."

"So have I, these years have all but destroyed my heart."

"I am afraid that was my doing," she let forth a great sob now, "and I ask forgiveness."

"We were to be married Isabelle. You heard of my disease, you could not bear to be promised to a….a leper," he shuddered and sighed, the word like foul poison on his parched tongue.

"No," the lady continued to sob. "I left because I could not bear myself, I did not deserve you my lord. You would not, could not have a Queen as me."

"What mean you, fair one?" he tilted his head slightly, the silver mask reflecting the soft candlelight. Isabelle stayed her tears and lifted a gloved hand to her veil.

"See my lord," she said. "If you can, you could not endure the pangs of despair brought on by sickly bride, destined to an early grave." The silken scarf fell away, revealing those gaunt features, destroyed by age. She was no longer the beauty he loved, her black hair turned to ash. The fair maid was an ailing woman, her youth was gone never to return. Baldwin could not see, but he could sense, the pale flesh, the suffering. "Fate has been unkind to us," she said at length.

"No, my love," he addressed again, as he had long ago. "The Lord will forgive us our trespasses and lead us to his kingdom, hand in hand."

"I beg your forgiveness, I implore it," the distressed maid replied. "You see now why I left, I did not want you to see, so foolish was I."

"I can forgive a fool," and he laughed, much to her surprise. "But look, my dearest life, God has given us the same suffering, the same trials upon this earth. It is now," and here he reached forward, resting his numb hand on hers, "it is now we shall earn our reward, two lovers torn apart in this life, brought together in the next."

"Yes, my King," she leaned forward, exhaustion from her journey creeping into her bones. She rested her small frame on his. "May he deliver us from evil."


End file.
